Читать книгу Lock, Stock and Secret Baby - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 8

Eight minutes ago, Eve had unlocked her front door and entered her house, glad to be home. Her familiar surroundings had greeted her like old, faithful friends. The oversize wingback chair where she did most of her reading had beckoned, and she’d decided to curl up in its cozy embrace and have a cup of tea while her mind wrapped around the complications of being pregnant.

On the way to the kitchen to put on the hot water to boil, she’d patted the back of the comfy sofa with its multicolored throw pillows. She’d passed the round dining-room table.

In the doorway to the kitchen, she froze.

Two men, dressed in suits and neckties, stood between the sink and the refrigerator. Except for their sunglasses, they looked like businessmen at a sales meeting. She desperately wanted to believe that there was a logical reason for them to be here.

Holding her purse in front of her like a shield, she asked, “Who are you? How did you get into my house?”

“The back door was open.”

That was probably true. She often forgot to lock up after leaving food for the feral cats that lived in the alley. Still, an unlocked door didn’t constitute an invitation to enter. “What do you want?”

“Our employer wants to meet with you.”

Were they talking about Prentice? “Who do you work for?”

With a cool smile, the taller man took a step toward her. If he lunged, he could grab her easily. That was when the reality of the situation hit her. These men were a threat.

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Liar! She was in severe danger, and she knew it. Her panicked instincts told her to run, but the men were bigger than she was. Faster. Stronger.

She had to be smarter.

Her mind cleared. She saw the problem as a geometric equation. Her kitchen was a rectangle with the two men in the center. She stood one step inside the doorway. To her left was a table and chairs. To her right, a cabinet jutted into the room. The distance between the corner of the cabinet and the corner of the kitchen table was approximately three feet. If she could block that space, she’d create an obstacle which would slow their pursuit and allow her to escape.

“Come with us, Eve.” The tall man spoke in silky tones. “Everything will be explained to your satisfaction.”

It took all her self-control to play along with his false civility. “This isn’t convenient. Perhaps your employer could call me and make an appointment.”

The second man drew a gun from a holster inside his jacket. “Enough playing around. Get over here.”

A gun. Oh, God, he had a gun. “Don’t shoot me.”

Abruptly, she raised one hand over her head. When she lifted the other hand, she swung her arm wide. The tall man was forced to step back or be smacked by her purse. As he shifted his weight, she dropped both hands and yanked a chair from the table to block the three-foot space.

She pivoted and ran. Though she hadn’t planned to scream, she heard herself wailing like a siren. Logic told her that she couldn’t go faster than a bullet. Would they start shooting? Were they coming after her? She whipped open the front door—fortunately unlocked—and dashed outside. One step from the front stoop, she ran smack into Blake.

Though she was sprinting at full speed, she didn’t knock him over. He staggered as he absorbed her velocity. “Are you all right?”

“Two men. One has a gun,” she blurted. “We’ve got to get away.”

He reacted forcefully. His left arm wrapped around her midsection, and he yanked her along with him. They were moving back toward the front door. Wrong way! They should be fleeing.

“He has a gun,” she repeated.

“Heard you the first time.”

His calm tone reminded her that he was a commando— specially trained to face danger. She could trust him. Though her pulse pounded and her nerve endings sizzled with fear, she forced herself to stand beside him on the porch instead of running willy-nilly toward her car. “What’s next?” she asked.

“Stay.”

“You mean, stay here?” She pointed to the concrete of the stoop. “Right here?”

Ignoring her, he was already on the move. He tore open the door to her house and charged inside, directly into the line of fire. His aggressive approach shocked her. He didn’t have a weapon. How did he intend to overcome a man with a gun? He’s Special Forces, she reminded herself. His aggressive assault must be some sort of tactic.

She pressed her back against the wall beside the mailbox and clutched her purse against her chest. Stay. It was a simple, unambiguous command. But what if the men in suits left her kitchen and circled around to the front? What if Blake was shot? What if …

Oh, damn. She darted into the house behind him. In her clunky sandals, there was no way she could move stealthily, but she tried not to plod like a rhino. She went right—toward the bookshelves beside the fireplace where she grabbed a poker to use as a weapon. Then she hid behind her wingback reading chair. Peering around the arm, she saw no one. She heard no gunfire.

When Blake entered from the kitchen, his movements were as swift and efficient as a mountain lion on the prowl.

She popped up. “Are they gone?”

He went into attack mode. For a moment, she thought he was going to launch himself at her like a missile. Instead, he waved her toward him. “Come with me. Hurry.”

Another quick command, spoken with authority. She jumped to obey. “I couldn’t stay on the porch because—”

He grasped her arm and propelled her through the front door, off the porch and across the yard toward a station wagon. He ran around to the driver’s side. “Get in.”

She barely had time to fasten her seat belt before he was behind the wheel. He flipped the key in the ignition, and the station wagon roared down her quiet residential street like a tank.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Look for a black SUV with tinted windows.”

“Where were they parked?”

“In the alley behind your house. I saw them pull away.”

They were safe. She exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the tension that clenched every muscle in her body. That brief encounter in her kitchen might have been the scariest thing that had ever happened to her. Though the confrontation only lasted eight minutes, it had felt like hours. According to Einstein, time was relative. Her fear made everything move in slow motion.

She reached into her purse and took out her cell phone. “I should call 911.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “Getting the cops involved is a waste of time.”

Though she had no prior experience with intruders or guns being pointed at her, she was pretty sure he was wrong. “This is a job for the police.”

“Did the intruders steal anything?”

“They weren’t robbers.”

“How do you know?”

“They knew my name and asked me to come with them.”

“Not typical of burglars,” he said.

“And they were wearing suits and neckties.” She shuddered at the memory. “And gloves. The kind of throwaway latex gloves we wear in the lab if we’re handling sensitive material.”

“Did they break in?”

She frowned. “It wasn’t exactly breaking and entering because my back door was unlocked, but they could be charged with … entering.”

“You weren’t harmed,” he said. “What crime would you report to the police?”

“That guy pointed a gun at me. He’s dangerous.”

“You’re right about that.” He focused on the road, driving fast through a maze of residential streets. “They could be the men who killed my father.”

The unexpectedness of his statement stunned her. The air squeezed out of her lungs, and she felt herself gasping like a trout out of water. Those men? Murderers? She had it fixed in her mind that Dr. Ray was the victim of a burglary gone wrong—being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “You’re saying that your father was targeted. That the murderer came after him on purpose. It was premeditated.”

“Yes.”

She waited for him to explain, but he was too busy watching in all directions and driving too fast. “Could you possibly be more terse?”

“No.”

The tires squealed as Blake rounded a corner. “That’s them. That’s their vehicle.”

At the foot of the hill in front of them, about two blocks away, she saw a black SUV. It made a left turn and disappeared from sight, thank goodness. Unless the bad guys doubled back, they were safe.

In a purely counterintuitive manner, Blake zoomed toward the other car. She shouted, “What are you doing?”

“Going after them.”

He’d just acknowledged that those men were possibly murderers. “Are you crazy?”

“My dad was murdered. I have few leads and no evidence. Those guys might know something.”

“Or they might kill us.”

“Try to get the number on their license plate.”

He hit the brakes to avoid a collision with a car pulling out of a driveway. At the corner, he had to stop again for schoolkids with backpacks crossing the street.

Finally reaching the corner, he turned in the direction the SUV had headed. This street fed into a main thoroughfare, and the other vehicle had already disappeared in traffic.

“Damn.” Blake’s right hand clenched into a fist which he pressed against his forehead. His jaw was tight. He winced, and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes deepened.

She sensed the depth of his frustration. Though she had no desire to ever see either one of those men again, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Dozens of questions popped inside her head. Usually, Eve was good at sorting out variables and assigning rational values, but she didn’t have enough information. “Why did you come to my house? Did you know I was in danger?”

“If I’d known, I never would have let you leave. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way.”

His military phrasing reassured her; he sounded a bit like her father. “You must have had a reason for showing up on my doorstep.”

He made another left turn and drove in the direction of her house. “I called Prentice to set up a meet, and he told me that he might have accidentally put you in danger.”

“There are no accidents,” she said darkly. If she hadn’t been so confused, she would have been furious. Dr. Prentice was at the center of this tornado that had thrown her life into chaos. “Do you think Prentice is involved in your dad’s murder?”

“I don’t have facts or evidence,” he said. “My dad’s e-mail talked about the Prentice-Jantzen study. If he went public about the study, Prentice’s reputation would be damaged. From what I’ve learned, the Aspen IVF and Genetics Clinic is big business.”

“So your father was a threat.”

Blake nodded. “His files pertaining to the study are missing, probably stolen.”

“Did the police question Prentice?”

“He has an alibi.”

But he could have hired those two men in suits. “You should have told me your suspicions about your father’s murder. There’s no logical reason for you to withhold information.”

He pulled up to a stop sign and turned toward her. His gaze seemed to soften as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t say anything about the murder because I thought you’d had enough shocks for one day.”

“True enough.” Finding out that she was pregnant and that her mom and dad weren’t her genetic parents were huge issues. “Nonetheless, it might have been useful to know about the potential for danger.”

“Don’t worry.” His voice was gentle. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

His touch warmed her through the cotton fabric of her jacket as he massaged her shoulder. He gave a light squeeze before turning back toward the road.

While she continued to stare at his perfect profile, the questions inside her head turned to gibberish. She wanted him to hold her and comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Their brief physical contact had erased her intelligence like a bucket of white paint thrown against a blackboard filled with equations. With one pat on her shoulder, he’d turned her into a dumb blonde.

“When we get back to your house,” he said, “I want you to pack a suitcase. You’ll be staying with me.”

She couldn’t put her life on hold. There were important projects at work—schedules to be met and responsibilities to be handled. Though she should have been telling him all those things, all she could manage to say was, “Okay.”

Staying with Blake seemed like the most rational plan she’d heard all day.

BACK AT HER HOUSE, Blake stood in the center of her kitchen, which was incredibly clean. Either she was a neat freak or she didn’t actually cook. He suspected the latter. He faced her. “I want to reenact what happened while your memory is fresh. They were standing here, right?”

“The shorter one was there. The tall guy was closer.” She motioned him toward her. “Move eighteen inches forward.”

He did so. “Here?”

“Close enough.”

As she explained what had happened, using geometry analogies, he cursed himself for missing his chance to nab these two guys. He should have been faster, should have driven her home and entered her house first.

She pulled the chair down onto the floor and concluded, “Then I ran. And screamed.”

“And they didn’t come after you?”

Her chin lifted. “Apparently, I outsmarted them by creating an effective obstacle.”

Though he had no doubt that her IQ was double that of these two characters, an overturned chair wasn’t all that impressive. He motioned for her to start running. “Go ahead and show me what you did next.”

When she darted toward the front door, he hurdled the chair. Before her hand was on the doorknob, he caught her arm and spun her around to face him.

Her blue eyes widened as she leaned her back against the closed door and gazed up at him. “You got me.”

“And I wasn’t even running hard.”

“I can explain,” she said. “You were ready to chase me, and they weren’t. Plus you’re taller than them. Longer legs mean you’re faster. Or maybe I wasn’t moving as fast.”

“Or maybe those two guys were incompetent.”

They’d taken off like a couple of scared jackrabbits as soon as they’d realized she wasn’t alone. He would have thought Prentice could afford a better grade of thug.

“I still think we should talk to the police,” Eve said. “I can identify both of those men. I’m very observant.”

“Prove it.”

“The taller man was five feet eleven inches tall. He had a gold pinkie ring with an amber stone and his watch had a gold and silver band. Cleft chin. Small ears. High forehead. The other one probably put on some weight recently because the waistband on his trousers was tight.”

He watched her lips as she rattled off more details about their shoes and shirts and the cut of their hair. He could have stepped back and given her more space, but he liked being close. “You have a photographic memory.”

“It’s called eidetic memory or recall, and I’m not one hundred percent. But I’m good with visuals and numbers.” She reached toward him and rested the flat of her palm against his chest. “It’s a useful skill, especially for investigating. I’m sure we’ll find the man who killed your father.”

“We?”

“You and me,” she said. “With your Special Forces training and my logic, we’ll make a really good team.”

This plan had to be nipped in the bud. He caught hold of her hand and gently lowered it to her side. No way did he intend to get tied down with a partnership. This was his fight. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”

“Why not?”

“The situation is dangerous.” He moved away from her. “While I’m investigating, I can’t be worried about what’s happening to you.”

“But you want me to come home with you,” she said. “To stay at your house. What am I supposed to be doing while you’re investigating?”

His father’s last wish was for him to protect Eve. He couldn’t put her in jeopardy. “Maybe you could take up knitting.”

“And maybe you could go to hell.”

“Too late, babe. I’m already there.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

Her eyes flared with righteous anger. He didn’t blame her for being ticked off. He hadn’t been gentle in rejecting her, but he didn’t have time to waste. Clues were fading like footprints on a beach being washed away by the tide. He needed to focus on finding his father’s killer. “Pack your things.”

“Tell you what, Blake. I’m going to let your condescending, sexist attitude slide for now because I know you’re under duress. But make no mistake. My abilities are a valuable resource. You need me.”

He watched as she moved past him and turned into the hallway. She was smart, all right. But, in this case, she was wrong. He had never in his life needed anyone.